Christmas, Fred and George Style
by Chounette
Summary: On Christmas Day, Fred and George play matchmaker. RonHermione, HarryGinny. [One shot]


**Title:** Christmas, Fred and George Style  
**Rating:** PG  
**Pairing:** Implied Ron/Hermione and Harry/Ginny.   
**Summary:** On Christmas Day, Fred and George play matchmaker.  
**Warnings:** Some minor cursing.  
**Notes:** A fluffy, humorous piece. I wanted to write a fic featuring Fred and George and the Ron/Hermione ship sailed its way into it – this is how it turned out. Written in approximately a hour and a half in the middle of the school cafeteria, surrounded by my friends, so writing was interrupted quite a few times.

* * *

Butterbeer bottles clinked. "Merry Christmas, Gred." 

"Merry Christmas, Forge."

The two Weasleys leaned back in their chairs placed near the beautifully-ornamented Christmas tree, reveling in the unusual quiet reigning over The Burrow.

_CRASH._

Ah, that's better.

"You're _not_ helping your case, Ronald!"

"Well, if you'd just let me _explain_ what I meant-"

Things had been nice and calm, just a while ago. Mr. Weasley was somewhere in London treating his wife to lunch, and Harry and Ginny had left to "take a walk", leaving the twins and Ron to play Exploding Snap in the living room while Hermione re-read _Hogwarts: A History_ for the umpteenth time.

But of course, Ron had to open in big fat mouth and throw in some nasty comments about house-elves, which got Hermione worked up and led to yet another argument between the two, which ended with Hermione storming out of the living room with Ron hot on her heels, pleading his case.

"Who d'you reckon will kill the other first?" Fred asked his brother casually, taking a swig from his Butterbeer.

"My money's on Hermione," George answered automatically.

"They best not make a mess – Mum would kill _us_."

"Honestly, you'd think everything that happens around here is _our_ fault."

"Well, technically, it often is-"

"Details, Fred, details."

Another crash, followed by a shocked yelp, startled the boys.

"Blimey," Fred said, straightening up and blinking. "Is she throwing things at him now?"

"I wouldn't put it past Ron to chuck stuff at a girl," George mused. "No respect for women, this bloke, honestly."

They stared up at the ceiling upon hearing something break. "_OW!_ Have you lost your mind, you evil witch?"

"Wow, what a nice insult! _Witch!_ I know I am one, Ronald, and in case you didn't know, you are a _wizard_!"

"Oh, shut it, you know very well what I meant."

George whistled as both teenagers started to let out streams of curses that overlapped the other's and would make Mundungus Fletcher proud. "They're lucky Mum isn't here. She'd glue their lips together."

"_We_ should do that – we'd probably get an Order of Merlin, First Class for shutting these two up."

"We'd deserve one, anyway."

More noise indicated the continuation of the fight, and the twins were growing tired of it. "Bloody hell," Fred said. "Just kiss already!"

Immediately, the two exchanged a mischievous glance. "Gred, are you thinking what _I'm_ thinking?"

"If it involves a locked door and two trapped, angry teenagers – as a matter of fact, I do, Forge."

Together they rose and sprinted up the stairs, their footsteps cushioned by the old red carpet. "Just in time," George whispered as they stopped on the last landing, near Ron's bedroom door.

"GET OUT, YOU BLOODY PRAT!"

"Gee, is it her time of the month?" Fred said quietly, recoiling from Hermione's shout.

George shrugged. "I'm just happy I'm not the one at the receiving end, bro."

"GET OUT!" The door to Ron's bedroom swung open, hitting the wall with a bang. Ron stumbled into the doorway, his back to them, apparently being pushed by Hermione. In the midst of their fight, neither of them noticed Fred and George's presence.

"Hey, wait a minute!" Ron interrupted. "This is _my_ room!"

"I don't care!" Hermione shrieked. George winced. "GET. THE. HELL. OUT!"

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. "You're mental, Hermione, I swear. Completely mental. Getting worked up about bloody house-elves, honestly…"

George could swear he felt the house shake. "OUT! OUT! OUT!"

Ron backed away, but Fred jumped behind him. "Oh no you don't, mate." He pushed a bewildered Ron back into the room and pushed the door closed behind him.

George appeared instantly at his brother's shoulder, wand raised. "_Colloportus Totalus!_" he said, pointing his wand at the door, which sealed itself.

"Hey!" They could hear Ron banging against the wooden door as they stepped back to admire their handiwork.

"Oh, move over, you _idiot_," Hermione snapped. "_Alohomora!_" The door remained shut, and she let out an enraged groan. "You bloody morons! Get me out of here this _instant_!"

"No can do, Granger," George said gleefully as Fred doubled over in laughter.

"This is all your fault," Ron said angrily.

"_My_ fault?" Hermione repeated in astonishment.

"If you hadn't started chucking stuff at me, they wouldn't have come up here and stepped in!"

"Bloody hell," George whispered. "I reckon Ickle Ronniekins is done for, now. Oh well," he added brightly, "at least we know he had the decency not to throw stuff at her." Fred nodded mutely, his eyes on the sealed door.

The unmistakable sound of someone being pushed against a wall reached their ears, followed by Hermione's near-hysterical voice. "Do you want to see something that's my fault, Ronald? _Do you?_"

Ron snorted. The twins winced as they thought (or rather, dreaded on behalf of their younger brother) Hermione's reaction. "What are you going to do, chuck more things at me? Blimey, at least half my stuff is- HMPH!"

"Did she hit him?" Fred whispered as he exchanged a look with his brother. That would be priceless – Ickle Ronniekins getting hit by a girl for sticking his foot in his mouth and just being a full-fledged prat.

They stood still and listened for a moment. Under their very eyes, the door shook from the force of something (or someone) falling against him. "I think she _kissed_ him," George said in amazement, his face lighting up.

Fred clasped his hands together, grinning. "Well, Forge, I think our work here is done."

"And I seem to recall two Butterbeers waiting for us downstairs." They slipped down the stairs. "Hey, Gred, d'you reckon we should ask for that Order of Merlin now?"


End file.
